Return Of The Anarchists 3 Fall Of The Anarchists Part-2

He jumped onto the jet ski and went towards the base at full speed.

He had a very uneasy feeling in his heart. A feeling of pure dread.

He had always possessed a strong sixth sense, that was currently tingling like a bag of popcorn in a microwave.

He had just entered within sight of the base when it happened.

The entire base blew up. The tongues of fire blossomed like the most horrifying lotuses. The sheer beauty in the destruction made it more uncanny.

Martin knew that all was over.

That level of destruction and beauty could only be achieved by Vincent.

The very fact that he used it meant they had lost.

The Anarchists had lost.

Martin wanted to feel angry, but he couldn't find a single emotion within him.

He was entirely numb.

Numb not calm.

Martin would get calmer the more rage he felt.

But today he just felt numb.

He had once been driven by pure vengeance. In order to take revenge on the corrupted n.o.bles of the empire, he had abandoned everything.

His humanity, morals, dignity-everything.

It was the anarchists that rekindled hope in him.

A reason to live.

Something much stronger than vengeance.

The sum of parts that made a greater whole.

Anarchy.

He had eventually achieved his vengeance. The anarchists had risen to the top of the world bathed in all its glory.

There is, however, one eternal truth about anarchy.

It only loses when its no longer needed.

The world had already healed.

So, they were now rejected by it.

Thrown away like used tissue.

Martin went through the ruins time and time again, hoping to find something.

Anything.

However, he was just grasping for straws.

If he had found something, that would mean Vincent's explosion had failed its purpose.

He couldn't even find a hair of a corpse of Lucas or Vincent.

Martin felt a strong bloodl.u.s.t rise within him cracking through his numbness and taking over all his emotions.

It was the most intense desire to kill.

However it soon faded back to calm.

Who would he kill?

The hero?

Vengeance wasn't the answer this time. Lucas and Vincent weren't pushovers who would want to be avenged.

Moreover, He knew.

Lucas wouldn't want him to do that. Lucas might seem a rash megalomaniac, but he was the most cunning, sordid individual to have ever existed. All of his enemies were manipulated by him akin to puppets with strings.

If he wanted the hero dead, the hero wouldn't have reached so far.

The hero had to live. His death would cause the recently healed world to spiral into panic.

Then, the corrupted nation leaders?

Already killed long ago with his very own sniper rifle.

Thus, he had no choice but suppress the bloodl.u.s.t.

He was a man with a code. He only killed those he deemed worthy.

Unable to do anything, and full of frustration towards the world, Martin couldn't help but fall to his knees and scream at the world uncharacteristically.

He kneeled throughout the night in mournful silence.

The pale moonlight illuminated his lonely figure.

As the sun slowly rose upon the land, he rose up and started to slowly walk away.

However he had just taken a few steps, when the suns rays, bent around him in weird angles. Like 4-dimensional magic circles that glowed blindingly.

Then, they vanished without a trace, taking Martin with them.